


The Things We Meant to Be

by SaunteringSprocket



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Post-Trial (Good Omens), Romantic Friendship, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunteringSprocket/pseuds/SaunteringSprocket
Summary: After 6,000 years and averting the Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale surprising (for them) conclusions about their feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing is very likely to be fluffier than clouds or cotton candy. 
> 
> More chapters in progress. 
> 
> The story itself was inspired by The Flatliners' song "Tail Feathers."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley slowly, but surely, begins to realize that his feelings for Aziraphale may be more than just friendly.

With the weight of the apocalypse lifted, Crowley felt the pressure slide off him. It had been there so long that he wasn’t even fully aware of its presence until it was gone. Obviously, he _knew_ that there were pressures. Pressures to check in, to do bad deeds, to make demonic miracles when requested, but that was reduced to background noise after a few decades. Immutable, inescapable pillars of life. It was just how things were for thousands of years. With those static expectations and the threat of the world actually ending gone, things fell back into place. Yes, it was normal, but a new kind of normal. A more open-ended normal. 

Clearly, this change in circumstance called for doing something exceedingly mundane. The most natural, normal thing to do in this situation was to invite his oldest – and to be fair, realistically only – friend to lunch. They had just averted the apocalypse together, why not take a moment to celebrate? Well… they were _involved_ in averting the apocalypse. Other people did most of the heavy lifting, but they were _there_.

After tempting Aziraphale to an excellent lunch at the Ritz – really more of an excuse for him to spend time with his friend and enjoy a good drink – he went back to his flat. Admittedly, the Ritz wasn’t exactly _his_ idea. Aziraphale produced the second half of the lunch plan via unsanctioned miracle. Thinking on it, they were a good team. Sure, they made a complete mess of saving the world from destruction until the last possible opportunity, but, overall, a good team.

He sprawled across his sofa, stretching out to rest a bit and enjoy this newfound sense of calm. Crowley never felt terribly attached to his flat. He had fixed it up, given it a nice sleek look, and provided a place for his frequently insolent plants to grow, but suddenly he could feel the sheer space there. A vast, very empty-feeling space.

There wasn’t only calm, though, there was also something… buzzing. Something felt somehow off. Crowley didn’t know where these feelings were coming from, specifically. Perhaps it was jitters from very recently expecting his way of life to come to an abrupt end, not only once, but twice. Coming face to face with Lucifer himself hadn’t been in his plan for the day. Preventing the apocalypse, absolutely, but not having the boss come up. Regardless, this whole thing could probably be explained by exhaustion. Shifting the world away from destruction will do that. And, exhausted or not, it felt good to be on his – _their –_ own side of things. Yet there was a nagging feeling somewhere in his mind. Something not quite sitting right.

Relief? Relief might feel odd after never having the sense of not being watched before, he thought. That must be it.

Yes, calm and relief meant that he had time to think now. And think he did, allowing his mind to wander through the array of memories accumulated from the beginning to the almost-very-end. A slow and selective version of his life flashing before his eyes. He could really savor it now, delving into the joys that humanity had to offer. He recalled the dead dog in France in the 1200s that he performed minor demonic miracles around until the residents believed the dog to be a saint.* He remembered his role in the dance epidemic of 1518. Introducing jazzercise in the late 1960s during a brief trip to Carlsbad, California, was another personal favorite memory. Unfortunately, Hell never did quite appreciate the humor in any of it.

As he traced back through his memories, his thoughts began to turn to corners that perhaps would have been best left unexplored. At first, he merely remembered his companion through much of the last… well, existence. So much of his friendship had been defined by sides, mostly on Aziraphale’s insistence. Despite that, though, they always found each other. Always in the right place at the right time, as if they had been drawn together. It would have seemed a shame not to lend assistance in these instances. So many times, Crowley could remember rescuing Aziraphale, or at least the things that were important to him. And so many times, Aziraphale had returned the favor, in spite of his near-constant vigilance when it came to _fraternizing_. Crowley hated that word in this context. Fraternizing. As if they didn’t have a bond beyond those sides. In the brief moment of losing himself in the memory of Aziraphale fighting against their friendship, he realized again that they weren’t on opposite sides anymore.

There were no sides anymore.

Not for the two of them, at least. Things were open, options existed now. He returned his mind to all of the things he and his friend had done for each other over thousands of years. Thousands upon thousands of sidelong glances from the angel. Thousands of shy, small smiles of gratitude. Thousands of attempts to make Crowley laugh. Well, mostly the angel made him laugh unintentionally, but Crowley could still count it. He sunk into his memories of those shy, reserved smiles. His eyes widened. “No.” He said to himself. “Nonononono.”

He left his comfortable – if contorted – position on the sofa, jolting up as unintended ideas and questions crept in. It had been at the back of his mind for millennia, but that’s where it should have stayed – the _back_ of his mind, not here, not at the front, not where he had to actually really consider it. He needed to shake this burgeoning realization. Perhaps a drive would offer a solution or, at the very least, a distraction. While his driving always struck Aziraphale as erratic and reckless, it was an opportunity to clear his head and focus on something else. Certainly, he wasn’t trying to run from anything, even though he would absolutely be pushing 90 miles per hour.

*He could, reasonably, neither confirm nor deny the dog had ever had saintly qualities, but he is certain the post-mortem doings were his work.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

His drive did get his mind off things, but the relief was fleeting. Passing through the now mostly empty darkened streets, he barely registered the green of trees and reds and browns of buildings whipping by him. Try as he might, it was difficult to outrun the thoughts. He had rather enjoyed the beginning of this day, when the most he felt was the comfort of knowing that life would continue as usual. And now he was spinning his wheels – quite literally – over some vague and unconfirmed emotions.

Eventually he found himself exactly where he wanted to be. It is important to keep in mind, however, that this is not where he _meant_ to be. Absentmindedly, he had driven to his best friend’s bookstore. He couldn’t parse out _why_ he was here, even though it was clear. Aziraphale was the reason for his current state. Not that he could place the blame on Aziraphale, this was clearly on him, not that he would openly admit that.

He sat parked outside, staring at the building.

“Not now. Why now? Things are _good_.” He winced at the word, unsure of how else to describe the situation. “No sides, no shadowy figures, no sneaking around!” Sneaking around, he thought to himself, makes them sound like a couple of sad love-struck teenagers. It left a foul taste in his mouth that he couldn’t quite get out, no matter how many times he grimaced and ejected his tongue.

He didn’t intend to think any of it, the sentiments spilled out with the rest of the uncertainty and confusion. There was an expansive list of new possibilities and now he was beginning to feel like he would be unable to function. He always suspected that Aziraphale would be the one to crumble without structure, but Crowley had Fallen. Crowley was _made_ for this. It was practically in the job description to go against the grain, be disruptive, tell the superiors to bugger off. He shouldn’t feel this tense over the loss of Hell constantly trailing him. The cessation of boring memos and check-ins.

Regardless of Crowley’s self-assessment, it was obvious why this was coming up now. The tedium of Hell’s attention was gone and Heaven would be looking the other way, which meant they had the ability to let more of their guard down. Specifically, Aziraphale would be able to let his guard down. _Of course_ now. He felt like he had been chasing after this for centuries. And here it was, the chance to be closer to his best friend. Now he needed to decide what to _do_ with it.

He started to feel a bit ill, sitting there alone in the dark.

“Would have let the apocalypse happen if I’d known this was where I’d end up,” he said to himself as he looked at his friend’s shop. Briefly, he considered trying to see Aziraphale again. That would seem odd, though, he thought before pushing the option out of his mind. Why would he need to make a night call? It wasn’t a notable part of their friendship unless it was something important and this was, decidedly, not important.

He shook the thoughts from his mind long enough to get back on track and drive home. He would need to find ways to keep himself occupied. Perhaps more gardening. He had noticed that the plants were becoming sloppy. It was his fault for getting too soft on them with the end of the world business. Getting back into the routine would surely help him adjust to the new changes. This was just a minor disruption; a brief and temporary faltering. Once he returned from the impromptu near-visit, he would sleep. As far as human activities went, sleep was among the top most excellent, somewhere near alcohol and watching ducks. So it was settled. He would get some sleep and wake up a new Crowley tomorrow.

Upon arriving home, he headed straight to bed where he fell immediately into his dark, silky sheets. He would get the plants back on track tomorrow. As he fell asleep, it was difficult not to drift back, just a little. A word lingering on his mind in response to all of the coincidences over the centuries. His friend’s favorite response to anything that seemed destined to be, but impossible to explain. One of the words he hated most in the entire collection of words ever uttered by anyone, near the top of the list by alabaster and salve. _Ineffable_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale, slowly but surely, begins to piece together what should have probably been obvious since the beginning.

Having the celebratory lunch with Crowley had been an excellent idea, Aziraphale thought. It was a chance to catch up and unwind after their part in saving the world and nearly meeting their ends in respective holy water and hellfire. He always enjoyed his time with Crowley, even when it wasn’t a special occasion, but this lunch was quite special. 

Aziraphale was feeling more relaxed after the world’s barely eluded destruction. Truthfully, this may have been the first time he actually felt relaxed since the beginning. This was specifically true of the last eleven years or so. He had been especially worried for a time – particularly with the mishap of misplacing the Antichrist for so long – but they managed to smooth things out in the end. Well… mostly. He had to admit that the lingering business with Heaven and Hell was still somewhat concerning, but it ultimately worked out for the best, he thought. Although it felt odd to think as an angel, he was happy enough to continue his life without the persistent gaze of Heaven upon him. 

Today, he was a new angel. A new Aziraphale. Ready to greet the world and humanity with arms open wider than ever before. 

There were so many options available to him now. At the very least, this would be an opportunity to get more done. He hadn’t necessarily been opposed to having visits from other angels on Heaven’s behalf, but it did frequently become burdensome. This was most acutely felt when it came to his daily routines. He didn’t much care for the judgement he received for living his life with human accents. The most complimentary label angels had given things that were important to Aziraphale – like owning his shop, enjoying food, and even partaking in reading – was “frivolous.” 

At times like this, he was especially grateful for the friendship he had forged with Crowley so long ago. Despite Crowley’s demonic nature, he offered a seemingly bottomless well of support to Aziraphale. It was such a pleasant departure from the way that angels viewed him. Without Crowley, Aziraphale would likely have never opened his shop in the first place. He may have even been dissuaded from enjoying food or steered away from his love of books.

He was very aware, however, that Heaven was no longer his problem. For the time being, at least. He was happy to be able to pick up more or less where he had left off, even though things did feel different after the world didn’t end. Everything felt lighter somehow. He could prioritize for himself. Miracling a table for lunch would be no problem. Heaven was looking the other way, so who would reprimand him for unnecessary miracles? Spending more time reading? Also on the table. Spending time with Crowley? No more fear of being viewed as fraternizing. There was an immense sense of relief. It was difficult to choose which freedom to explore in more depth first. For now, he supposed he was content with the thought of being able to tend to his bookshop. 

He realized that it was slightly shocking that he still had the ability to create miracles, being somewhat ostracized from Heaven. A miracle of miracles, he thought to himself.

One of his favourite things about the shop was the ability to make it truly his own. He chose the books, planned the organization, and set the displays. He hadn’t considered it before, but he really did have a variety of ways to enact some level of control in his life. Had he been posted in Heaven, he knew he would have far fewer options. They weren’t generally keen on giving angels much choice.

It was calming for him, though, to be able to immerse himself in the books. The feel of the old, age-crisped pages. The scent of years gone by, infused into every tiny crevice. The light, gentle particles that lifted off them when he moved them, sending a fine dust into the air. That, for Aziraphale, was his own little piece of Heaven. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

When he returned, he was disappointed to find that any plans to tend to the shop were clearly unnecessary. There wasn’t actually much tidying to be done. Adam had taken care of most of that with ease, though it resulted in some youth-related liberties with the selection and organization. 

His face fell a bit as he surveyed the new books. He hoped that there would still be some remnants of the original collection.

Perhaps it was worth it to try to reorganize a bit anyway. He could come up with a new strategy, while taking the opportunity to see exactly what was now in his possession. 

While he looked through his books, it occurred to him that he no longer felt worry over the possibility of Falling. He used to. If he was being honest, it was nearly constant. With all of the decisions he made, activities he participated in, and moments he had with Crowley – a demon, the enemy – he was always concerned that Heaven could catch some small, drifting piece of information on the wind and exact harsh punishment. 

They were a vengeful lot, the angels. And not, as harsh as it felt to say, a thinking bunch. This much was confirmed by their deep desire to follow through with the Apocalypse. Heaven and Hell became mirrored images of one another toward Aziraphale and Crowley after they had traded bodies, each attempting to destroy their respective decoys. 

And it made sense; angels and demons were two sides of the same coin. They came with the same design specifications, so to speak. The demons may have Fallen, but that didn’t preclude them from their original wiring to obey general orders. 

Aziraphale wasn’t completely comfortable with this line of thought. It still felt far too close to doubt for comfort, comparing the actions of Heaven and Hell to one another. Still, it was impossible not to draw comparisons in this situation. 

He was grateful again for Crowley. Perhaps they were more similar than he had allowed himself to believe for all these years. After all, it had been their side at the almost-end of things. 

It had been their side for quite some time, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Truthfully, he was aware that Crowley was the best friend an angel could have. The best friend that he could have. The thought was almost more troubling than any potential concerns over Heaven and Hell’s next moves. Crowley and Aziraphale were meant to be enemies. Those were the rules. The designations kept order. Yet, Crowley was also the one who was there. He was the one who suggested averting the Apocalypse. He was the one who knew that, perhaps, there was another plan. Had to be another plan. 

How exceedingly fortunate he was to have been posted with Crowley from the beginning, he thought.

In that moment, Aziraphale realized that he had more faith in his friend than he had ever held in Heaven. He put up walls, yes. He made sure to push back against Crowley and declare him a fiend and a bad influence. He went through all of the necessary steps to distance himself, but deep down, he knew what he believed to be true. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

There were many moments with Crowley that Aziraphale remembered with great fondness. Most recently, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of each of them foiling their respective head offices’ attempts to execute them. Although, overall, the situation was horrifying in concept, he quite liked being Crowley for a bit. As Crowley, he could say anything he wanted to. He could be impetuous, sarcastic, and subversive. He wasn’t an angel in that body. Or at least, not that anyone could see. 

He had fun with the idea of building up Crowley as some kind of impossible being. A demon immune to holy water, too powerful to be contained by the Hell’s ill-equipped systems. Being able to take Michael down a peg was exhilarating, too, he supposed. 

He couldn’t help but also wonder if Crowley had enjoyed being him. 

Despite thoughts like this, however, he hadn’t Fallen. Despite all of the activities that angels like Gabriel and Michael judged him for, he remained an angel, a part and an extension of Heaven. He began to think this also likely meant that God wasn’t going to be particularly concerned with any means of punishment. 

Perhaps, he thought, this was also part of Her plan. 

Why would She have allowed so many perceived transgressions? She didn’t even reprimand him for no longer having the flaming sword like some of the angels did. She also had to have known about the encounters between him and Crowley. Even if She had momentarily not been paying attention or was taking some kind of celestial nap, their friendship had spanned too long not to have noticed something.

He paused for a moment and focused on a singular word in that thought. Friendship. He could finally stop fighting it. There were no more tangible reasons – exaggerated or otherwise – to feel uncomfortable with Crowley. 

He hummed briefly to himself and smiled contentedly at the thought while he sorted through his books. He had to admit that all of this made him quite happy. He was, to be fair, a generally happy angel, but this was different. This was happiness with a reason. A purpose. 

He continued to sort through the books, slowly tallying up dismay to compete with the contentedness he was feeling. So many first editions lost, presumably forever. 

For Aziraphale, this was a tragedy. Of course, it paled in comparison to what could have happened, had the world ended as apparently planned. 

He suddenly remembered the state that Crowley was in after the shop had burned down. He couldn’t address it at the time, but it did pain him to know how much it affected Crowley to think that Aziraphale had died. He was somewhat surprised by the amount of pain Crowley experienced, though. They had a deep, enduring bond, to be sure, but he couldn’t have imagined that level of despair. 

He was able to smile at the idea of Crowley’s souvenir now. A small token taken from the progressively charring memory of the place he associated most with Aziraphale. While it ultimately helped to halt Armageddon, it was also genuinely sweet. 

This wasn’t the only instance of sweetness from Crowley. He had often gone out of his way to assist Aziraphale. And there were also the countless times that Crowley supported him and his endeavours. And every single time that Crowley tried to be close to him, even though Aziraphale would predictably push him away. Crowley’s invitation to Aziraphale to run away and save themselves. His begging to go off together. 

“Oh good lord.” He said quietly, placing the book he currently had in his hand in a stack.

In the burgeoning realization, he also considered how much these actions meant to him. 

He thought about the warmth he felt every time Crowley would appear, seemingly always somehow in the right place at the right time. He remembered the soaring feeling any time – and there were several – Crowley would rescue him from danger. He recalled how much it had meant to him when Crowley saved his books from the demonically diverted bombing in the church. How good it felt to be asked to run off together. How much it hurt to hear Crowley call them friends while trying to whisk him away. 

“Oh good lord.” He covered his mouth lightly after his jaw dropped. “I need to sit down.” 

Aziraphale took a seat in a nearby chair and considered all of the things he had ignored for centuries. He wondered how he could have missed so many things all this time. 

He wanted to talk to Crowley, but what would he say? What could he say? If it had taken him this long to work things out, had Crowley already been thinking the same? 

He was in such a state that he swore he heard Crowley’s Bentley outside.


End file.
